Nightly Strolls
by Elusivebeats
Summary: AU: Hook/Emma. The best interactions often occur at night. Emma Swan is completely and severely intoxicated much to an incredulous Hook's surprise. Can Killian Jones finally prove himself as the gentlemen he always claims to be?


**AN: This is an AU story. Still set in Storybrooke, but before Hook and Emma get together. So if there are discrepancies from the series, ignore them. Anyway, I digress. Read and Enjoy!**

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CHAPTER ONE.

Emma Swan had chosen the most dingy, unpopular, and ramshackle bar in Storybrooke to hole down in. The decrepit bar was nuzzled in the underskirts of two neighboring buildings, both in similar states of decay. The rusted windows were caked with dust and it was only through the soft luminance protruding from the filthy glass, that one had the realization that this shady bar was actually inhabited, open, and eagerly awaiting customers to empty their merrily jingling wallets in exchange for alcohol. Or, as she liked to call it, sweet relief and desecration.

On numerous occasions had Emma pondered why this whole section of Storybrooke had not been demolished and completely remodeled. Passerby could not even say that there was some historical significance in preserving the area as there wasn't a single fathomable reason that existed.

It was just there.

For no other reason than to be the ugly bruise marring its otherwise beautiful surroundings. It was a deplorable mess compared to the rest of the town which was quaint, cozy, and picturesque. Still, at that moment, she was grateful. Grateful for this dodgy little bar in this teensy little alleyway in which none of her friends, or for that matter even the locals, ever visited.

It was the den of anonymity, Emma thought as downed another drink. She glanced around at the other, very scarce, inhabitants. None of who were familiar. She smiled secretly over the rim of her glass whilst ordering another drink.

Perfect.

Sometimes this little town could be stifling. No secret ever remained hidden. People would stick their nose in, let's say, _their-best-friends- second-cousin's-mothers-business_ , with such an air of propriety as though they were entitled to the some stranger's personal affairs. You saw the same faces every day. Everything you did was laid bare for the locals, and now for her family, to see. It could be a difficult town, a judgmental town, to live in if you were a very private person. Much like Emma was.

It wasn't like before where she could just spread her wings and fly whenever the desire and whim hit her. She could not live the life she had in the past which overall encompassed the notion of running away. Emma simply couldn't skip town now. And it was more than that. She didn't want to leave this town. Even in the short amount of time she had resided in Storybrooke, it felt more like a home to her then any of the prior locations she had settled in.

Not only that but she had a son, a mother, and father. She suddenly had a semi-functioning and whole family. Albeit they were not the conventional type of family, but who really had that anyway?

And an unconventional and damaged family was more than Emma thought she would ever grasp in her clutches anyway. The idea of abandoning them, relinquishing them, made her heart ache. She shyed away from even the thought of that hypothetical pain. And she absolutely abhorred and refused the thought of leaving her son with the same taste of abandonment that still lingered in her own mouth. It was repugnant.

All of this had resulted in her skulking around her own town much like a criminal, with the essential immature desire to drink her problems away.

And drink with abandon.

It wasn't a long term remedy but what can you do.

She just needed to let go of the impassable amount of responsibility that had been practically shoved on her lap. She was at her limit, her boiling point, and since she didn't consider herself to be the brightest crayon in the box, getting wasted seven planets forth was the smartest decision to solve all the unresolved issues of her suddenly complicated and overwhelming life. But she didn't want anyone else to see. To know. Because God's knows, it wasn't acceptable for a mother, a twenty-eight year old woman, to go to a bar for the main reason of getting completely and irrefutably wasted.

Not acceptable here, in this little town, anyway. She could already visualize her mother's disapproving look. Emma's eyebrow twitched with semblances of amusement and irritation combined. Hence the reason she was at this shady, dirt-ridden bar instead of her usual watering hole, Granny's. She sighed already missing its warmth and familiarity. But a drink here was the same as a drink anywhere; it could get the job done. And with that thought, she swung the creaking bar down open. She was a woman on a mission.

As the bartender proffered his next drink to her with a sleazy leer on his face, she dismissed him without a second glance. He was harmless. Just toothless.

All the people in the bar were harmless, really. This bar wasn't the place that housed convicts, thieves or other criminal activity. She would know, being the sheriff. It more of housed all the social outcasts and pariah's of the town. They all congregated together in their brooding stages of awkwardness. She wondered if she stuck out like a sore thumb or if she fit in with all these misfits.

She was a misfit too after all. A lonely, awkward, angry, issue ridden woman. She could admit it.

Emma sighed, running a hand through her long blonde hair. One finger traced the rim of her filthy vodka-enhanced glass. Her spirits were low and she tried not to think- because it just made her overwhelmed and unhappy. She instead decided to choose vodka. Copious amounts of vodka. Just drink Emma. She told herself. Shut up with all these stupid feelings of yours. The world will look brighter tomorrow. She shrugged. Well, probably not, depending on her bad her hangover would be.

 _Christ._

Thinking of the past week, she groaned in frustration and swallowed another burning mouthful of liquor. She wasn't cut out for this. The expectations everyone wanted of her were higher then she could ever reach and would only result in disappointment. Rubbing her aching temples, Emma thought about her inefficiency as a savior, and even more importantly her failure as both a mother and a daughter.

"Let's face it" She murmured absentmindedly, "I'm no cuddly teddy bear".

She had a hard exterior shell, that Emma knew. Life had brought her up to be defensive, not affectionate or softhearted like her mother and father. She couldn't express feelings like her mother. Hell, she couldn't even remember the last time she had said I love you. To anyone. Be it family, friend, or lover.

She had barely loved anything all her life. Neal, and now... Them. Her family. It was sad. She could probably count all the things loved on one hand. She wouldn't need more than five fingers.

They didn't understand. She wasn't made like them. But they needed it. Her affection that is. God, she could see it brimming in her mother's eyes every time Emma kept her emotional distance. Hurt, there was so much hurt.

And Henry.

Henry needed her love most of all. She wished she was capable of showering him with that motherly love that good mothers were usually known for. But she didn't know how to change her personality.

She was damaged goods.

She couldn't let loose.

She was...broken.

And so Emma had ultimately decided to try to lose her uptight posterior via alcohol. Maybe it would be a learning experience. And after a multitude of questionable drinks she inevitability got to stage where her tolerance was broken.

"Drunk as a skunk" she sang to herself.

Emma could feel the alcohol buzzing in her veins, sweetly poisoning her. Her vision was lagging as was her balance. She couldn't seem to stop sliding off the godforsaken stool. And if she wasn't falling off the stool, she was spinning in it. It was one of those moving ones.

Bliss. It felt like pure bliss.

She waved her hand in the air, aiming for nonchalance.

It didn't matter anyway. No one here was judging. They were all in similar ridiculous states of mourning. The vodka buzzing in her veins numbed her, making her feel more carefree and loose then she had in a long while. Her thinking was slower, foggier. Emma laughed. She felt better then she had felt in a long while. One hand grabbed the counter to keep her upright and dignified while the other reached for her drink which the bartender was more than happy to keep refilling once it got to even a quarter of the way empty.

"Swan?"

And just like that her laughter ended abruptly.

She moaned "Go. Hic. Away"

She recognized that voice. She would recognize that voice anywhere. He always found her. He always fucking found her. It was one of those annoying habits of his. She often wondered how he did it. Especially here. She was never usually here. And it sure as hell was not cute and romantic like her parents story of "I will always find you". No.

It was downright fucking creepy.

She spun around in her chair to face him. She probably looked crazy, she knew. Her hair was wild, her eyes bright and excited, and her cheeks were flushed in heightened patches from drinking.

"Hook"

"Swan?"

He sounded delighted.

"You sound like its freaking Christmas morning. Kindly do me the favor and leave" She snapped, irritated. Except her words came out less snappish then she meant it to. They were slower, softer, the vowels slurred.

Dammit. Her voice sounded alluring, even she could recognize that. But it had been purely unintentional. And he looked smitten; his eyes were heady with lust. That was not what she was going for. Emma had wanted to sound intimidating, threatening. _Fuck._ She needed her wits about her to deal with this man. And unfortunately, at the moment, this was lagging. She tried to swing back around on her barstool, now that she had gotten out her formal greeting, and return to her wallowing.

She wanted to return to her wallowing alone.

However, he quickly grabbed her thigh foreseeing what she had in mind, stilling her movement before she could turn away from him.

Emma scowled, looking up at his pretty-boy face. Again, she felt the loss of balance that only intoxication could bring and tried to remain steady. Hook apparently felt her shakiness too as his hold on her thigh tightened securely, his hand slipping slightly up her leg in the process. She tried to hide the blush from her face and ignore the fact that the overall sensation was not entirely unpleasant to her. She also tried to avoid looking straight at him. He unhinged her. His dark tousled hair, rugged face, and canine-sharp teeth did strange things to her body. Emma could grudgingly admit that he was attractive.

He was grinning at her now as if he knew what was on her mind. His blue eyes were glinting with humor and mischievousness as he chuckled incredulously at her state of mind. Her scowl deepened as her irritation grew at his uncomfortable proximity.

Didn't this man know boundaries? Or….social cues? Her glare and crossed arms ought to have given off the impression that he was not wanted. In fact, it usually scared off the unwelcoming and unwanted attention of the average overconfident and testosterone happy males who tried to hassle her. And if that didn't usually work, then she would casually mention she was a sheriff of the town, and that always did the trick.

But then again, this was Captain Hook. When the hell had he ever done anything that was convenient for her? She prepared herself for a difficult night as she looked up at his Cheshire wide smile and mischievous dark eyes.

It had always been mind-boggling difficult for her to put these two sides of Hook together as one person. His playful side and his dark side. How could two sides harbor inside the same person? Now that she was severely intoxicated, it was even harder to distinguish the two. She squinted at the man before her.

He was Hook and he was Killian.

But they were both different.

She let that statement sink in for a minute and then snorted to herself.

How profound. Hook was raising his eyebrow at her which basically signaled she really must look mentally incapacitated. Not that she was of course. She coughed, narrowing her eyes, and attempting to be 'serious' and/or 'sober'.

Right, where was she? Emma tried to return to her former train of thought.

 _Two sides..Two sides..._

Right. She remembered.

Hook was dark, revenge-bent, and selfish. Though she didn't like to admit it, that side of him frightened her. She had only seen facets regarding that sliver of his personality. However, Killian was mischievous, playful, and irritating. Yet, she didn't mind his company. That was as far as she felt like philosophizing in her drunken state. She could identify the many sides of Hook later. Analyze every aspects of his personality and grind him down into nothing. Right now however, the damn man was in front of her and she was not pleased.

She started at the sound of his raspy voice.

"Emma. Emma. You are pissed out of your head. Remind me love, how many of these lovely drinks have you consumed?" he drawled, holding up her empty glass and waving it in front of her.

"Psh…I can drink a hella of a lot more then you can pirate, that's for sure. _Hic_ "

His grin widened.

"I'd love to take you up on that wager. Perhaps on some other night when you're not already so...severely handicapped". He peered into her bleary, red-rimmed eyes with a smile. "Now love-"

"Not your love" Emma interjected, searching for her drink. She needed one. Dealing with a snarky pirate did that to you.

"Whatever you say darling. Now I think it's about time that I walk you home. It's the wee hours of the morning, wouldn't want you to drown your pretty little head in vodka would you? "

"Walk? No" She smiled brightly. "Taxi, and let me set you straight. I'm going without you"

She opened her wallet, ignoring his comment of what in the seven hells was a taxi.

It took her a few moments to open the small bit of leather as her hands had unfortunately gotten to resemble something reminiscent to butterfingers. In fact, the process consisted mainly of dropping the bloody wallet a few times before successfully opening it, all the while muttering a consistent stream of creative curses that would make her mother weep.

"You have a sailor's tongue" Hook commented dryly "now what would your mother say?" He tut tutted, waggling his eyebrows at her in mocking chastisement. Emma ignored him while she opened her wallet.

And then she frowned, trying to think above her drunken stupor.

Huh.

She swore she had forty dollars in here. And a credit card. She searched all the pockets.

Nope. It was sorely empty.

With drunken suspicion she looked around and then up. Higher and higher still, till she met the eyes of the smirking one-handed man towering above her. Her blues eyes widened in realization and she pointed accusingly at him.

"Pirate! Give it back!"

"What?" he questioned innocently.

"My dollars. I know you… _hic_ …I know you steal"

He snorted humorously. "Love, believe me when I say I have no interest in your pieces of paper. I steal gold, not your world's ridiculous idea of money. Now up you get. Guess we're walking after all"

She blinked up at him in horror "It's over an hour's walk! _Hic_. And I don't want to go with you" Still, her body was moving, for once following his domineering orders.

"I can't, _hic,_ I can't believe you're actually walking me home. You don't have to. You don't have to pretend to be chivalrous"

"But I want to" he followed her out the door, reminding her very much like a dark and menacing Panther. The other patrons at the bar didn't make eye contact with him, they were wary of him. Intimidated by him.

Her blue eyes pierced him.

"Why?" She demanded impetuously. "Why are you helping me?"

"What can I say love", Killian smirked, "but what I've been saying all along. I'm a gentlemen"

"Not.. _hic_...Not your love" she reprimanded childishly, ignoring the latter part of his statement.

He cocked his head to his side, watching her move rather unsteadily on her feet, before finally going over to assist her. His hand teasingly moved to places it had no business being. His hook grabbed her waist, pulling her flush against his chest while his hand slithered up her taunt stomach, making small circles against her ribcage. She squirmed away from his tight hold and with a reluctant sigh Hook let her go.

"With you walking like that, it'll probably be taking much more than an hour" he commented. But nevertheless he followed her out the door.

Like a gentlemen.

 **AN:**

 **Please Read and Review. Thank You!**


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